The Children of Wilton Chase

Marjorie was never a pretty child, and she certainly did not look her best at that moment. Fatigue had deprived her of what slight color she ever possessed; her hair was dreadfully tossed, her holland frock rumpled and not too clean, and her really beautiful gray eyes looked over-anxious. Marjorie's whole little face at that moment had a curious careworn look, out of keeping with its round and somewhat babyish form.

"If you want to talk to Ermie, I'll run away," said Lilias. "I'll find mother, and tell her that you've come, Maggie; and we must discover some expedient for keeping you, now that you have arrived."

When Lilias finished speaking she left the room, and Ermengarde instantly turned to Marjorie.

"This is really too silly!" she said. "I felt obliged to you two days ago, but I'd rather never have come than see you here now making such an exhibition of yourself. Do you know that you have taken a very great liberty, forcing yourself into the house this way?"

"I'm going back again by the next train, Ermie, and I did think that you'd rather have me than a telegram."

"You than a telegram? I want neither you nor a telegram. Maggie, I think you are the most exasperating child in the world!"

"Well, Ermie, you won't let me speak. I've come about Susy; she let out all about the miniature to me last night."

"About the miniature!" echoed Ermengarde rather faintly. Her defiant manner left her; her face turned pale. "The miniature!" she said. Then her eyes blazed with anger. "Why have you interfered with Susy Collins, Maggie?" she said. "Have you disobeyed my father, too?"

"No, Ermie. I'll tell you about it – you have got to listen. I'll tell you in as few words as I can. You know, Ermie, that Basil has got into trouble with father. He gave Miss Nelson back the miniature, and father thought that Basil had first stolen it, and then broken it; and father was very, very angry with Basil, so Basil wouldn't come to Glendower, although he wanted to. And last night Basil came to sit with me in my room, and I told him I meant to clear him, for I knew as well as anything that he had never stolen the picture or broken it, or done anything shabby. And Basil said that I was not to clear him, that he didn't wish to be cleared, and that he'd live it down. Basil and I went away to father's room to look at the moon, and Basil asked me to leave him there, for he wanted to be alone with mother's picture. Then I went away, and it was late, and I was going to bed, when Hudson came and told me that Mrs. Collins had come, and that she wanted you; and Mrs. Collins was crying awfully, and she said Susy was very bad, and she was always calling out for you, and if you didn't go to see her, perhaps Susy would die.

"So then I went to see Susy, and she really was awfully ill; she had fever, and was half delirious; and she talked about the picture, and about its being broken, and she wanted you so dreadfully. Then I promised I'd bring you to her to-day, and that quieted her a little, and no one else heard what she said about the miniature. Miss Nelson went with me to the Collinses' cottage last night, and I told her how important it was that you should see Susy, but she does not know the reason. No one knows the reason but me."

"And you – " said Ermengarde.

"Yes, Ermie, I know. I couldn't help guessing, but I haven't told. I have left that for you."

Ermengarde turned her head away.

"I thought I'd be better than a telegram," began Marjorie again.

"O Maggie, do stop talking for a moment, and let me think."

Ermengarde pressed her hand to her forehead. She felt utterly bewildered, and a cold fear, the dread of exposure and discovery, gave a furtive miserable expression to her face.

Just then Lilias came into the room.

"I hope your great confab is over?" she exclaimed. "Mother is so pleased you have arrived, Maggie, and of course she insists on your remaining, now that you have come. Hudson can go home and pack your things, and send them to you, and you shall come out in the yacht with us; we'll have twice as jolly a day as we would have had without you, Maggie."

"But I must go home, really," said Marjorie, "and – so must Ermie, too, I'm afraid."

"Yes," said Ermengarde, rousing herself with an effort, and coming forward. "Maggie has brought me bad news. There's a poor little girl at home, the daughter of our head gamekeeper. She broke her leg a week ago, and she's very ill now with fever or something, and she's always calling for me. I – I – used to be kind to her, and I think I must go. Maggie says she never rests calling for me."

"It's very noble of you to go," said Lilias. "This quite alters the case. Let me run and tell mother. Oh, how grieved I am! but dear Ermie, of course you do right. That poor little girl – I can quite understand her looking up to you and loving you, Ermie. Let me fly to mother and tell her. She'll be so concerned!"

In a very few moments Lady Russell and Mr. Wilton had both joined the conference. Mr. Wilton looked grave, and asked a few rather searching questions, but Marjorie's downright little narrative of Susy's sufferings softened everyone, and Ermengarde presently left the house, with the chastened halo of a saint round her young head.

Her saint-like conduct, and the romantic devotion of the poor retainer's daughter, made really quite a pretty story, and was firmly believed in by Lady Russell and Lilias. Mr. Wilton, however, had his doubts. "Ermie in the rôle of the self-denying martyr is too new and foreign for me," he muttered. "There's something at the back of this. Basil in disgrace (which he well deserves, the impudent young scoundrel), and Ermengarde the friend and support of the suffering poor! these things are too new to be altogether consistent. There's something at the back of this mystery, and I shall go home and see what it means to-morrow."

CHAPTER XXIII.

BLESSED AND HAPPY

Ermengarde was sitting in her own room, and Marjorie was standing by her side. It was the day after Ermie's unexpected return home. She had spent a couple of hours with Susy, and Miss Nelson had given her a grave but kind welcome. Now the first day was over, the first night had gone by, and Ermengarde was sitting, resting her cheek upon her hand, by the open window of her pretty bedroom.

Marjorie was lolling against the window-ledge; her anxious eyes were fixed on Ermengarde, who was looking away from her, and whose pretty face wore a particularly sullen expression.

"Well, Ermie, what will you do?" asked Marjorie, in a gentle voice.

"Oh, I don't know – don't worry me."

"But you must make up your mind. Miss Nelson is waiting."

"Let her wait; what do I care?"

"Ermie, what's the good of talking like that? Miss Nelson is our governess, and mother used to be fond of her. You know it was mother asked her to come and take care of us when she knew that God was going to take her away. So, Ermie, there's no use in being disrespectful to her, for, even if it wasn't very wrong, father wouldn't allow it for a minute. Ermie, do you know that father has come back?"

"No! What can he have come back for?" Ermengarde raised her brows in some alarm. "I can't make out why he should have shortened his visit to Glendower," she added anxiously.

"I can't tell you, Ermie. He's talking to Basil now; they are walking up and down in the shrubbery."

"Oh, well, Basil – Basil is all right."

Marjorie felt a flood of indignant color filling her face.

"Basil won't tell," she said, in her sturdy voice. "That's quite true. Basil has promised, and he'd never break his word. But Miss Nelson is different, and she – she has determined to find out the truth."

Ermengarde sprang from her chair.

"What do you mean, Maggie?"

"I'm awfully sorry, Ermie, but I really mean what I say. Miss Nelson says she is determined to find out everything. She has sent for you to speak to you. You had much better come to her. Oh, now, I knew you'd be too late! That's her knock at the door."

The rather determined knock was immediately followed by the lady in question. Miss Nelson was a very gentle woman, but her eyes now quite blazed with anger.

"Ermengarde, it is quite a quarter of an hour since I sent for you."

Ermie lowered her eyes – she did not speak. Miss Nelson seated herself.

"Why did you not come to me, Ermengarde, when I sent Maggie for you?"

"I – I didn't want to."

Miss Nelson was silent for a minute.

"I anticipated your saying something of this kind," she remarked presently. "So, as it is necessary we should meet, I took the trouble to come to you. Ermengarde, look at me."

With a great effort Ermie raised her eyes.

"What did Susy Collins say to you, yesterday?"

"I – I don't want to tell you."